


halloween bonanza

by StrangeHormones



Category: Black Christmas (1974), Re-Animator (Movies), Scream (Movies), The Boy (2016 Bell)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Drabbles, F/M, Requests, Smut, headcanons
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-01
Updated: 2020-11-01
Packaged: 2021-03-09 01:48:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 3,827
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27336700
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StrangeHormones/pseuds/StrangeHormones
Summary: requests- written halloween day twnty-twenty. all are follower requests from my tumblr
Relationships: Billy Lenz/Reader, Billy Loomis/Reader, Bo Sinclair/Reader, Brahms Heelshire/Reader, Herbert West (Re-Animator)/Reader, Stu Macher/Reader, doom-head/reader
Kudos: 60





	1. bo and his goth gf

**Author's Note:**

> the bonanza is over so i thought i'd share it with yall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If you still take requests, could you do Bo with a goth girlfriend? Yeah my idea may sounds pretty boring but at least it's an idea 😂
> 
> a/n; ain’t no bad ideas during the halloween bonanza my lovely. under the cut cuz sexy stuff

  * it doesn’t make sense to him at first. seems like a lot of work for something no one but him and his brothers are gonna see anymore
  * but there’s something about watching you work
  * this must be what you felt like watching him work on the few cars he kept around
  * everything is exact, each layer has to be done just right and in the perfect order or it all falls apart
  * at least that’s what you say when you’re drawing the swirling shapes on your face in pitch black ink
  * then the clothes!
  * at first he could not undertand why one person needed so many goddamn clothes that just looked like one big mass of black
  * but just like your face it’s all carefully constructed
  * from fishnets to metal plated boots to leather collars, until it wrapped together into something that really did steal his breath away
  * even if it did still piss him off it took you four hours to get ready when he was feeling kind enough to take you out of ambrose on a real date
  * he learns a lot more about you after the first time he does it because you feel the need to thank him with all sorts of debauchery
  * first time he hooked his finger through the O ring just above the hollow of your throat he thought you deck him
  * instead you smeared cakey block lipstick all over his lips and something about it revved him up more than he thought possible
  * then you let him use the knives
  * something about dark red against the blackness of your carefully constructed outfit that he’d made come undone, buckle by buckle
  * it doesn’t make sense to him at first. until he realizes you’d been keeping it up for his benefit. he has a great time thanking you for it




	2. brahms and a mute s/o

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> headcanon request

  * you’re different
  * and that changes everything
  * he’s never felt the need so early to show himself
  * but you pick up on him before he even has a chance to reconsider the idea
  * you pound on the walls where he’s scurrying around
  * every
  * single 
  * TIME
  * you’re different
  * it’s strange to be the one doing the reading
  * eventually he does the talking too
  * the childish voice fading away day by day
  * until it almost feels like two grown ups living together
  * _almost_
  * because he has no way of knowing you want him the way he wants you
  * there’s no names the few times you dare to slip your fingers beneath the blanket
  * if he hadn’t been hiding in the darkened corner he might’ve doubted it had even happened
  * you’re different
  * he becomes obsessed with the faces you make
  * not the ones when you’re gardening, making dinner
  * the faces you make when anyone can see
  * no
  * it’s the face you make when you allow yourself to be vulnerable
  * your half open mouth with panting breaths
  * the way you bite the corner of your lip
  * the way your eyes roll back
  * you’re different
  * because when he slips into your bed there’s no fear
  * you lean into his touch
  * show him where to touch you
  * you touch him
  * he never imagined it woud be like this
  * you’e different because you make him something else
  * he knows it when the guilt comes
  * and he slips the porcelein from his face
  * you deserve to see him in all the ways he sees you
  * you’re different
  * and brahms is sure that’s why he loves you




	3. stu macher shower sex

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so can you do a stu macher smut where like him and the reader have shower sex pleas?

When it comes to dating Stu, there ain’t no showering alone. Most of the time it’s just foreplay, warming you both up till both of you could hardly stand it. Most of the time you fucked on the floor when that happened. But this was different. He’s covered in blood, pumped full of adrenaline. It’s different, he’s different.

You’ve never taken your clothes off faster.

It’s not about showering or love or any of that other bullshit. It’s about fucking without the tackiness of blood getting in the way. You’ve got your hands pressed to the wall, thankful for the shower mat before all thought leaves your brain and he slams into. It’s hard to get a grip on anything, he holds the windowsill so he can snap his hips back and forth. You’re using the wall to push yourself backwards because it’s too precarious to try anything else standing on your tiptoes in a shower. The water tints pink, reminding you exactly of what’s happening here.

Killing made Stu horny and no one fucked him like you. You groan at the thought, clamping down hard when a sudden and violent orgasm rips through your body. You can hear him laugh and you’re sure he’s got some bullshit waiting on his tongue to cut right through the perfect atmosphere. You push back harder, trying to focus through the vice grip you’ve got around his cock and the lights flashing in front of your eyes.

“Fuck, baby,” he says instead, his words broken up as he began to twitch inside you, “You keep up like that-”

But you know what happens if you do. Reaching your peak you drag him along for the ride. Back and forth tighter than ever before. A few more shaky thrusts and he’s done, pulling out and slipping between your wet thighs for the finale. His cum slips down the drain with the running water and you finally dare to stand straight.

“Shower’s a dumb place to fuck, Stu,” you beat him to it, yanking open the curtain and leaving wet footsteps on your way to the bedroom.


	4. herbert with a medium s/o

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Halloween Bonanza request! Herbert West with a s/o that has been able to communicate and see spirits/ghosts all their life? Please? Happy Halloween!!! 🎃🎃

  * he doesn’t believe it
  * not at first
  * but there’s a point where his belief in the scientific method means he has to admit when he’s wrong
  * these aren’t plesant people you’re seeing
  * they’re angry
  * deformed
  * _ghoulish_
  * he’s brought every single one of them into this house
  * how can their spirits rest when their bodies don’t?
  * you try to explain it to him
  * try to make him understand
  * he really can’t
  * not for the longest time
  * until he understands it’s not their interest you’re fighting for
  * it’s his
  * you are a conduit from the beyond to him
  * and who wouldn’t long to destroy the one who tortures them
  * the man who treats their bodies like puzzle pieces
  * if it weren’t for the way he holds you tight
  * in those brief moments all the visions go away
  * if it weren’t for that
  * you would’ve left a long time ago




	5. bo sinclair smut

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is super specific but reader gets snagged by victims passing through Ambrose and bo sinclair loses it?? Could be before they even are together and reader thinks he wasnt going to come for them?? How hurt and if the victims were trying to help is up to you haha and if it turns naughty...well ;)

It ain’t the finding that’s hard, he knows every nook and cranny within fifty miles of Ambrose. It ain’t the killing either, he likes that. A lot. It’s the not knowing. Did you go with ‘em? Did they take you? Would you even come back? He wanted you to come back, he knew that. He hadn’t said it, had hardly admitted it to himself but that could be the only reason he’d gotten behind the wheel of his truck and speeding down the road like a bat outta Hell. It’s why he didn’t have any plan to bring ‘em back for Vincent, he didn’t want to see those sons of bitches ever again. ‘Less it was at the bottom of a ditch.

Because you’re his. He found you, more than that, he let you live. _He took care of you_. They should’ve kept driving if they knew what was good for them.They shouldn’t have been lookin’ at ya. They thought they knew anything ‘bout anything, snatching you up like they deserve you. Bo deserves you, since the second he saw you he knew you were gonna be his. He proves it to them like a burning hot knife through butter. Till it’s just you, him, one last asshole, and a flimsy cabin door that crumbles with a firm kick to the center.

“Bo!” you’re trying to get out from behind the guy, looking terrified of him while babbling some nonsense about you being crazy, “Can you please kill this asshole already?”

Bo’s never gotten a hard-on from just a few words before but damn if he weren’t able to cut glass he’d be surprised. It’s a passive motion he takes on his way to you. A screwdriver through the neck, yank, and push. Not like there was anything else for him to do but slowly crawl. That wasn’t enough for you.

“You fucking prick,” kicking him with each word, sending blood spurting across the floor.

Which didn’t seem to be enough for you because you’re holding out your hand. He almost grabs it but realizes what you want when he drops the sticky tool in your hand. There isn’t a chance for him to crawl, not now that there’s about a dozen holes in his head. And all he could do was watch you, biting back the groan that makes his jumpsuit tighter around the crotch than it’s ever been.

It ain’t a choice or something animal, it’s destiny. Pure and simple. Same reason you’re his; because that’s the only way it’s s’pposed to be. He hauls you up by your bicep, kissing you till he’s sure both your lips will bruise, he knows your back will with how hard he slams you against the wall. Everything shakes, maybe it’s the old wood but he’s absolutely sure it’s gotta be you.

“I didn’t think you’d come for me,” you gasp when wastes no time undoing your jeans and yanking ‘em down your legs, “They said-”

“Fuck they know?” he growls, spinning you ‘round while he’s free hand makes quick work of his zipper, “Remember what I said when I let you live?” he doesn’t give you the chance to answer, “You’re mine, sweetheart,” you’re so tight but he’s gotta feel all of you around him.

“Jesus fuck!” you shriek, hand slamming against wall and using it as leverage to press more of yourself against him, “What took you so fucking long?”

Ain’t nothin’ loving or tender or slow about what you two did as bload soaked into the floor, into your clothes. It’s just beautiful desperation.


	6. dan catches you and herbert

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Can I request a Herbert West/reader fic of Dan finding out about their relationship by catching them in the middle of a... certain act. 😳

Herbert had found romantic relationships unnecessary and sexual relationships distracting. Something you had easily been able to figure out within a few hours of meeting the man. Time does things to us all. As does isolated togetherness. The tectonic plates of your partnership shifted and everything was forever changed. He had called it unlikely and improbable, you had smirked and called it inevitable. He rewarded your sarcasm by making your throat ache and your legs next to unusable.

Only when Dan was gone. Only when he was blocked. And you shouldn’t come to expect it. Over time three rules were sanded down to two and then one. Until even that one had faded away. It had become more about tact and timing. Herbert would be lying if he tried to say there wasn’t something about the way your teeth dug into your bottom lip, always so close to drawing blood but never quite making it. One day it would happen, he would make sure of that. But tonight was more about relieving tension more than anything else. He hadn’t believed you at first when you adamantly told him it was a fantastic stress reliever. He wished he had believed you earlier because you had been right. As he was coming to find you often were when it came to the matter of human sexuality.

Something about you squeaking, splayed out on the sheet-covered metal where he did all his best work, did wonders for clearing his mind. There wasn’t anything to think about except daring your volume higher and higher until the fact Daniel hadn’t heard you was a miracle. There is something fascinating about it. How just a few nerve endings could bend a person’s entire perception of reality and sensation. He had even started to understand it was something that could be craved, there were times he saw you and it was as if all scientific reasoning had left his mind. Replaced with memories of these moments. Your legs around his hips, wanton for every ounce of pleasure only he had been capable of providing you. Something you had said in the heat of the moment and had confirmed upon clear-headed revisiting.

It’s his own fault really. He should’ve controlled himself better or covered your mouth. He truthfully had never imagined you would lose control to that level when Dan was home. But maybe it was just that fact that had lead to releasing your perfect bottom lip from its prison as you moaned. Louder and louder, until he couldn’t care about anything else because something about the way you moaned his name was the only thing important in that moment.

By the time either of you registers your roommate’s voice or the sound of creaking stairs, he’s already caught you. Every part of him knows that he should stop but your mutual friend has said nothing, his slowing hips met by yours gyrating against his which is enough to pull his focus back to you. Right where you want it.

Both sets of eyes on you and the beautiful way you come undone.


	7. billy lenz with a shy, slutty s/o

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What about Billy Lenz on Halloween day with a shy fem s/o who wears a skimpy costume but is insecure about it with smut pwease?🥺❤️💞💓💕

The skirt was too short, the shirt cut too low, and it was far tighter than your sorority sister had told you. All in all, you felt ridiculous. Costumes like this weren’t meant for girls like you. When she had said cat, you had imagined a maybe a fuzzy bodysuit with some ears and makeup. Turns out only the last part of that had turned out to be accurate. The only thing about the clothes that seemed mildly cat like was the almost tabby print on them. There wasn’t time to get a new costume, not with the party just an hour off. So instead you would spend the time trying to build up some semblance of confidence until liquor could do the rest of the job for you.

So far it had been staring in the mirror, willing yourself to find anything about the outfit that didn’t make you feel cheap or maybe even made you feel good. But all it seemed to do was show off every part of your body, most of which you didn’t like. That’s how you had ended up laying on the bed, eyes pressed into the crook of your elbow, wondering it was even really worth going downstairs. They’d miss you for about an hour and then the booze would flow…

Panting sounds in your ear, there isn’t a chance to react when slender fingers wrap around your ankle and pulled hard. It drags you down the bed, forcing the already minuscule piece of fabric into what amounted to a sash high on your hips. You open your mouth, ready to protest when the skimpy underwear you’d been forced to wear so the outfit didn’t even more obscene seemed to disintegrate, and soft skin passed along the sensitive nerves of your thighs.You wanted to argue. There wasn’t time, the costume wasn’t yours, and as always, nice girls didn’t do things like this. But Billy had a way of dashing all those thoughts from your mind when he dove headfirst between your legs like a man starved.

“Pretty kitty, tasty kitty,” he mumbles, making the room fill with obscene wet noises you pray are only so loud because of your fear of getting caught, “My pretty kitty.”

His teeth tug at the tender bud that made you want to scream. Your teeth clamp down hard, drawing blood from your already scarlet painted lips, your body threatening to shoot straight up. You dig your fists into your bedspread. There’s no sense of pacing or time, almost like your enjoyment is just something that happens in his own reach for pleasure. Just when you’ve gotten used to his abuse of the bundle of nerves it’s disappeared, traded for his tongue slithering in and out of your hole while it made uncoordinated circles, clockwise, counterclockwise, back and forth.

You’re sure he has to feel you tightening down on his tongue. Your climax is always a surprise with him, appearing suddenly and shooting you straight up before falling hard to the ground. You breathe hard through your nose, whimpers passing through your grip on your still bleeding lip.It’s sudden and harsh, overwhelming and while you’re glad he’s left you to enjoy the few seconds rather than overstimulating you to his own amusement, it doesn’t come without its own consequences.

There’s the sound of a zipper, muffled in your ears as you ride the comedown. Flesh harsh against flesh, he’s babbling as he so often does in moments like these. It might’ve made your cheeks hot like always if you weren’t focused on catching your breath and the sudden wet heat splashing across your body.

“ _My pretty kitty,_ ” he repeats, all you can do is pant and nod.


	8. bo sinclair, stu macher, and billy loomis jealousy fuck

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> PLEASE any of the slashers fuckung the reader in blind jealousy and basically claiming the absolute everliving fuck out of her 😭 i’m thinking like stu, billy loomis, or bo they hit different but idk if you write for billy loomis or not skskkssk

  


Bi don’t even have the power to make it up to the house when he’s this angry. A part of him wonders sometimes if you’re doing it on purpose but it don’t really matter. It always ends the same because no matter how hard he tries, he just can’t keep his mind straight when it comes to the idea of anyone else’s hands on you. He’s gotta remind you who you belong to. He only ever manages to get the tailgate down. Doesn’t even bother to pull your bottoms all the way down, there’s something about you being at his mercy bent over _his_ truck that always does him the fuck in. He waits just long enough to make sure you’re ready before he rams into you from behind. Touching every bit of skin he can reach while each violent thrust pushes the metal farther into your hips until they bruise.

It ain’t enough to make you cum, he’s gotta take every last bit from you. Even when it seems impossible to hold himself together he does it till your screams are hoarse, you can barely catch your breath, and your eyes refuse to stay open. Only when your body’s shaking and you’re begging for him does he absolutely _know_ he’s made his point. And he gives you exactly what you want. Filling you up with a growl and his teeth in your skin.

When Stu gets jealous it isn’t about him but all about what he can make you feel. He finds the closest semi-private place and does what he does so well. He falls to his knees at the altar of vagina. Every trick he’s learned, every bit of jaw strength he has from never learning to keep his mouth shut goes into it. And no matter how many times you drench his face, no matter how fucking painful his zipper is against his dick, he doesn’t stop. He’s got a point to prove and that’s no one eats pussy like Stu Macher. 

“Think I’m gonna spend all day down here,” it’s somewhere between a threat, a promise, and his own personal heaven, “What’d’ya think, babe?”

He’s never really asking your opinion, he always steals the air from your lungs seconds later until you’re a panting mess that can only make the most primal of noises pinpointed with his name. His favorite is when your legs go limp, the rest of your body following and he’s sure you’ve forgotten that asshole. That’s how he knows; he won.

Billy is a fucking tease. It isn’t enough you want him, you’ve got to _need_ him.He runs his fingers along every nerve ending he knows sets your entire body ablaze. There’s no touching him. Everytime he grabs your wrists, pinning them down, and doing the same with his lips. You’re not allowed to move. And no matter how much you pant and moan and _whine_ he doesn’t give you anything more, let alone what you want. He’s got all the time in the world and he reminds you he’ll use all of it to absolutely torture you if he has too. His breath coasting along a straining nipple, his cheek just above the warm slice of heaven between his legs. It isn’t easy but it’s worth it.

Because eventually, “Fuck me, Billy, _please_ ,” his favorite song, “I need you. I need you inside me. _Please_!” a needy mess that’s only for him.

No one knows how to fuck you like Billy can. He hits every nerve ending, filling you up better than you had ever imagined possible, and it hurts so good every time he presses against the deepest part of you. Your hands have to stay by your side or he’ll stop; starting the whole thing over. You just have to let him destroy you from the inside out until the world goes fuzzy at the edges and you can’t tell where one orgasm ends and the other begins.


	9. doom-head smut

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It is Halloween after all so I feel like someone should request some seasonal doomhead smut👀

You won, you fucking won. Bruised, bloody, and probably broken. Just a few seconds longer and… you don’t think about it. Watching the way your would-be killer backs down, angry and maybe rightfully so. He had tried so hard to catch you, maybe if he had been called in a little bit earlier things would’ve been different. Instead, his knives bare down into splinter wood until his fists shatter this piece of furniture into a million pieces it seems. All you can do is finally catch you breath, still riding the high of adrenaline that had come roaring back with the promise of survival.

“Are we gonna fuck or what?” it seems the logical step to get this feeling out of your veins, “I mean since you’re not gonna kill me-”

There isn’t kissing, he digs his teeth into your exposed shoulder in some mocking imitation of the gesture while you both fight your jeans off. He’s gotta admit there’s something perfect about the moment. He can’t kill you outright but he can give you a thousand little deaths which will have to do. It’s better than plowing his dick into some random morning bar hussy. Maybe because you’ve shared a moment together no one else has or maybe it’s because he ain’t ever seen something so broken be so fucking strong and there’s a poetic beauty in that. Whatever it is, he’s balls deep in you, the sweet copper of your blood spilling into his mouth while your nails ripped his back apart.

His hips bruise your thighs, coated head to toe in dirt and blood, wooden slivers start to dig into your skin, but all you can think about is how you’ve never been fucked this good. And whether it’s him or barely surviving, maybe some fucked combination of them both, you have never cum so hard in your life. Which you tell him and his gravelly voice says something about how fucking tight you are before he’s splattering your insides.

Neither of you speaks for a while after, catching your breath and wincing as you yanked your clothes on, “Get in the fuckin’ truck,” you don’t regret listening.


End file.
